


Decrees of Chivalry

by erte



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, Forced Marriage, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Physical Abuse, Rodrigue’s A+ parenting, felix-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:41:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26224360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erte/pseuds/erte
Summary: In Imperial Year 657, the Church of Seiros makes a series of emergency decrees in response to Fódlan’s abruptly low fertility rate. Bearers, the few men and women capable of bearing children, are too precious to fight battles, lead men, or do labor.Felix Hugo Fraldarius, born in Imperial Year 1163, is a rare crest-having bearer of noble blood. To the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, he is a blessing from the Goddess in dark times, a signal that Fódlan may soon veer away from extinction and towards its former glory.So, why does Felix see it as a curse?
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 23
Kudos: 80





	1. Prologue

_Fraldarius Territory, Blue Sea Moon, Imperial Year 1176_

Yellow summer sunlight streamed through the second-floor reading room’s large windows. The warmest months of the year—a brief, valuable time for the people of Faerghus—yielded a flurry of activity at House Fraldarius.

Servants and squires took advantage of the fair weather to complete repairs around the fortress and hunt game in the adjacent forest. Traveling merchants from Leicester and Adrestia sold preserved foods from distant, fruitful regions in bulk. A handful of knights on horses sparred with lances in the expansive training grounds.

Last winter had barely receded, and they were already preparing for the next one.

Watching from his tutoring session inside, Felix couldn’t help feeling lonely. His father, Glenn, and most of the Fraldarius knights had been gone for almost a month now on a diplomatic mission with the King. A few knights remained in Fraldarius territory, stationed at the estate to protect the noble family’s possessions from thieves.

Especially their most valuable possession. A bearer with a crest. For all his protectiveness, Rodrigue saw no reason to keep Felix innocent of who he was, and of what he meant to the Kingdom.

Every child in Fódlan grew up understanding that they lived in an era of darkness. Each of Felix’s tutors—and he’d gone through a lot of them—told the same story.

When humans were created, all women could bear children, and all men could sire them. Families became as large or small as they pleased. Everyone lived free, able to love and follow their passions without worrying about the survival of their kind.

The Goddess blessed Fódlan with the largest population in the world, and as a result, it became a center for human-wrung success. Its culture and influence reached distant regions like Dagda, Almyra, and Morfis. Its nobles and merchants were known for their wisdom and wealth, and its knights for kindness and bravery.

Then, five hundred years ago, a series of long and greed-fueled civil wars left the fertile green earth scorched and soaked in blood. Three competing powers emerged: an Empire with a vast army, then a Kingdom with fearless knights, and an Alliance with merciless strategists. Appalled by the cruelty that mankind inflicted on itself, the Goddess took away its gift of bearing children.

She decided to teach the people a lesson—life should never be taken for granted.

For five long years, no child was born in Fódlan. During that time, every last noble and commoner, humbled to the same level by the threat of extinction, prayed for forgiveness. Murder and mistreatment slowly disappeared, replaced by piety and chivalry.

Satisfied that Fódlan had learned the value of human life, the Goddess restored her gift. However, wary of the people’s regression, she returned it to only a tiny percentage of the population—this time, to both men and women.

The people of Fódlan interpreted it as a sign: if they maintain the peace and keep the population steady, the Goddess will deem them worthy and return her gift fully. Only then could the land restore its golden age.

To that end, the Church of Seiros issued the Decrees of Chivalry, a set of laws regulating the lives and treatment of those that could have children: bearers. The Empire, Kingdom, and Alliance swore fealty to the Church and enforced the Decrees with punishment by death.

For hundreds of years, the population held, even grew, slowly, yet Fódlan never regained the power it once had.

Memorizing the stupid laws on a bench while Glenn and Sylvain sparred with wooden lances on the royal training grounds was Felix’s earliest memory of being different, of being special. Dimitri and Ingrid eventually joined them, but Felix was never allowed.

Other than a dead mother he didn’t remember, he’d never met another bearer. According to those books about knights that Ingrid loved to read, bearers were gentle, kind, and perfectly submissive. Never angry, and never sad.

Not that it mattered if the books were accurate. It was what everyone, most importantly his father and brother and friends, expected him to be.

“I will always protect you,” Dimitri had told him earnestly one chilly afternoon in Fhirdiad when they were both ten. His cheeks were flushed and his golden hair was messy, just returned from training in the snow. “It’s my duty as your prince.”

Felix could never get mad at the affection in his round blue eyes. Though, it didn’t stop him from hitting Dimitri over the head with his music book. His father, who was watching, had yelled at him and sent him to his room with no dinner.

Suppressing the itch of frustration at being condescended to became second nature for Felix as he grew older. Obeying his father and letting his friends take care of him felt as easy as falling, while grasping for independence, for learning about weapons and riding with his friends, was always punished.

But he definitely did not feel ready to become…an object of desire, like the bearers in the stories.

In fact, it terrified him. Every music and dance lesson he took while Glenn and his friends trained with lances was another step into some horrible gilded cage. A prison where commoners could gape at his beauty and nobles could fight to own his body.

Sylvain, who otherwise flirted exclusively with girls, didn’t hesitate to direct his insincere salacious compliments at Felix. Well, until Glenn overheard him one day and cheerfully threatened to knock Sylvain’s teeth right out of his dirty mouth.

“Felix’s way ahead of you on the threats of bodily harm, Mister Royal Guard.” Sylvain had grinned in good humor, running a hand through his messy red hair. “And he’s a lot more creative.”

But much as Felix liked Dimitri’s attention and Sylvain’s company, he missed Glenn the most. His brother would return any day now, according to the scrawled copy of the itinerary that he slipped under Felix’s door before they left.

Sitting by the window on the second floor, Felix had a great view of the front gates and the village surrounding the fortress. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ears, eyes on a red bird singing on a tree outside.

“Felix, if you’re done daydreaming, please recite the five Decrees of Chivalry. The way you’ve been acting these days, I can only assume you have forgotten them.” His most recent tutor’s expression was a well of unreadable patience.

 _Ah_ , Felix thought. So she found out about his short-lived ride in the training grounds last night. Sneaking into the stables was so much harder without help from Sylvain.

After consulting the Archbishop about his difficult son, Rodrigue hired the former Monk from the Church of Seiros, who specialized in educating intractable bearers.

“Felix.”

Like with anyone trying to get him to do something he didn’t want, Felix ignored her and kept looking out the window. A few slow seconds passed. A second bird joined the first.

“ _Felix_. Thirteen is too old to be this childish. What is Decree One? Or do I need to talk with the Duke about sending your brother on a month-long patrol mission for Garreg Mach?” _There_ was the difference between her and the other tutors. She knew how to get what she wanted.

Scowling, Felix obliged her.

“Decree One. Bearers shall marry before their eighteenth year.” Marriage was supposed to be the center of his life, yet it felt so abstract. Felix didn’t bother looking away from the window. If she really wanted eye contact, Felix decided, she could just threaten him again.

“Good. What is the next one?” The tutor prompted.

The birds outside the window suddenly flew away, and Felix’s bronze eyes darted around, instinctively trying to figure out why. Then, he spotted it.

Not _it_ , but _them_. A group of shapes rapidly approached the estate on horseback.

 _Goddess, finally,_ Felix thought, watching raptly. “Decree Two. A bearer must obey their guardian.” His least favorite decree. He hoped whoever he married would less overbearing than his father.

The tutor nodded for him to continue.

Felix squinted as the knights on horseback got closer. There was no mistaking the jagged, symmetrical crest on the blue banner they raised. Or the silver griffin embroidered above it.

Why was his father raising the royal banner? Felix’s heart leaped hopefully. Did the King decide to visit? Was Dimitri with them?

“Decree Three,” he said, trying to sound bored so that she wouldn’t notice. “No one except the Church of Seiros may end a bearer’s life.”

“Next.” The tutor answered. The procession was much larger than the one that left Fraldarius a month ago. And they were moving very quickly. Too quickly. In just seconds, the first rider would pass the estate’s reinforced gates into the main courtyard.

Felix could see the pin tips of lances raised as if ready for battle, despite being in the safety of Fraldarius territory. He heard muffled shouting saw squires abandon their work and rush towards the procession.

_What’s going on?_

Felix’s fitted shirt felt suffocating, and his hand moved to undo the ivory buttons on his sleeves. “Decree Four. A bearer may not wield a weapon, own land, or lead an army,” he went on automatically. He had recited the Decrees so many times that it was easy to not think about.

This time, instead of a command to continue, he heard the chair across him grate against the stone floor, and then the sound of rushed steps leaving the room. So she had finally noticed. Exploding into action, Felix stood out of his seat, unlatched the window, and pushed it open to get a better view.

The scene grew illegible as servants and squires greeted the dismounting procession and began to take their horses to the stables. Felix spotted father taking off his helm, looking extremely distraught.

Felix’s stomach felt like a wrung towel. He’d never seen Rodrigue so unsettled. He scanned the group quickly, and then did it once again, more carefully.

_Where’s Glenn?_

He couldn’t see his brother, who usually rode to the right of Rodrigue. In fact, no one there wore the blue and silver armor of the Royal Guard.

And the rider next to Rodrigue wasn’t in armor at all.

“Dimitri!” Felix couldn’t help shouting out the window, as improper as that was. The prince’s usually-neat blond hair was unbrushed, his cloak tattered, and his expressive blue eyes downcast.

A scared uneasiness filled Felix’s heart when he saw that Dimitri was heavily bandaged.

With a decisive heave, Felix pushed his heavy oak chair under the window. He stepped onto it and slipped out onto the ledge. In the summer, the vines crawling up the edifice were strong enough to support Felix’s weight.

He climbed the foliage halfway down and leapt safely the rest of the way to the ground with a tuck and roll.

“Dimitri!” Felix called again after using the momentum of the roll to jump to his feet. He ignored his father’s shouted reprimand.

The prince flinched and turned to look at Felix. He wore a hollow expression that almost looked cruel for a moment before recognition gleamed in his blue gaze. “Felix, I…I am sorry.”

“Felix. Go to your room, _now_. We don’t know where else they may strike.” His father was barely controlled. Rodrigue’s hand landed on Dimitri’s shoulder, guiding him away.

“Dimitri, what happened!” Felix started towards his friend, wanting to hug him. A Fraldarius knight stepped in his way and grabbed Felix’s forearm when he tried to run past him. “No! Let me go!” The knight was firm and gentle as he dragged a struggling Felix back to the main residence.

He passed the Seiros tutor and Fraldarius servants speaking in urgent, hushed tones.

“I will return to Garreg Mach at once,” she said, sounding no less calm than moments ago with Felix. “The Knights of Seiros will lend Faerghus their strength as they seek justice for this tragedy.”

“Tragedy?” Felix shouted, confused and afraid.

_Where’s Glenn?_

No one was talking about Glenn. But dismayed voices swirled around him as news of whatever had happened spread. Talk of death, and talk of a funeral. No, multiple funerals.

The Seiros tutor spoke loudly now. A speech to the servants, squires, and knights. The funerals had to happen as soon as possible. The commoners needed to understand what had happened to their King, and who was responsible.

Felix’s chest hurt. Breathing felt like lifting a cannon ball. He spotted Glenn’s armor and lance in a cart with other weapons and supplies. Black and blue, like a bruise. Glenn always looked handsome in black.

_“Thanks, Felix. You look lovely in white. As always.”_

He rubbed his eyes as his brother's parting words echoed in his head.

_A funeral…_

Felix barely felt pain of his hands and knees hitting the ground, or the burn in his throat as he vomited on the stone tile floor. His chest felt speared open, leaving a poisoned wound that meant he would never be whole again.

“Felix!” Dimitri’s distant shout barely registered above the ringing in his ears.

Black gloved hands were touching him, helping him up. The dirty leather left marks that stood stark against white sleeve of his shirt.

“Did…she say…a funeral?”

For some stupid reason, the final Decree of Chivalry rang in his head like a chapel bell.

_Decree Five. Bearers must always wear white._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this exposition-heavy prologue! If you’re looking at the tags and wondering whether Sylvix or Dimilix is endgame, the answer is I haven’t decided, lol. Probably whichever is more compelling to me by the end. BTW, the premise of this fic is inspired by this one: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1526744/


	2. The Gilded Cage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glad there’s interest in this very self-indulgent fic! By the way, I didn’t intend to be divisive about the endgame ship. I love all permutations of these three idiots, but I have a specific story in mind. 
> 
> I will add content warnings per chapter in the end notes, but please know this AU has dark angsty themes, so read at your own risk.

_Fraldarius Territory, Guardian Moon, Imperial Year 1179_

The brick-paved road was well-traveled enough that even in the dead of winter it had only a thin cover of snow. The boot prints of Rodrigue and his knights left a convenient path for Felix to follow.

The knights rarely went on missions, much less into battle, in the winter. The freezing weather rendered visibility low and living in tents impossible. Even the thick-coated horses native to the northern regions refused to carry equipment and rations for more than a day of travel.

It was conventional wisdom that the Faerghus winter killed more than any war in Fódlan’s history. For most commoners, starvation was a perennial enemy. A bandit or thief raid could prove fatal for a village.

Which was why Rodrigue decided to embark on this mission to extinguish the latest crew of bandits harassing the roads in Fraldarius. For all Felix detested his father, he would always respect his kindness to his subjects.

As he followed the knights’ trail alone, Felix pulled Glenn’s too-big coyote fur coat tighter around his shoulders to keep the frigid air out. His brother’s knight training—and genetics that hewed closer to their father—had made him taller and broader than Felix at sixteen. The prominent muscles of a fighter were undesirable on bearers, and Felix’s dance lessons kept him fit, but slim.

Underneath the musty scent of years-long storage, the dark brown coat still smelled like his brother. The embrace of Glenn’s scent was painful, but he didn’t have a choice. Any of Felix’s all-white clothes would give him away like a fire in the night.

The sound of clashing metal and exploding spells cut through the crisp air, and Felix moved faster. Not that speed mattered—he didn’t have a plan or a weapon.

As Felix squinted through the bare trees to make sense of the fighting, he wondered where he was currently falling on spectrum of foolish and brave. Glenn usually approved and even abetted Felix sneaking out, but he’d never ventured near a real battle before.

Would Glenn’s protectiveness have started to resemble Rodrigue’s once he disagreed with Felix on where to draw the line? Physically, his brother had been a spitting image of their father. As Felix’s real memories of Glenn grew hazier, trying to create fake new ones in his head became all the more tempting.

_Let the him go,_ Felix chided himself. _You need to focus._

His father and the knights had split into two groups, employing a pincer formation to surround the bandit encampment. Despite their inferior weapons and dilapidated armor, the bandits weren’t giving up. At least for now, they held their own with scrappiness that could only come from a life of hardship.

In another life, Felix might have admired them.

_This fighting and death is foolish_.

Yet, here he was.

The knights and bandits were so focused on each other that Felix slipped closer with ease, his steps silent as a cat. He watched as the bandits held a firm line against his father’s knights. This was the only way to resist the pincer attack—if the bandits broke formation, they would be scattered.

Felix’s heart beat swiftly, and, despite the cold, his body felt warm. As he observed the fighting up close, his mind was clear and awake. He felt alive, like he never did while locked inside Fraldarius castle.

Somehow, the logic of battle and the movement of combat made more sense to him than anything his tutors had to say about faith and chivalry. He wanted to understand language of steel and iron weapons flashing between skilled opponents. Even the exchanging blasts of magic were more compelling than the healing spells he learned from his father.

The closest he usually got to this feeling was when he watched the knights train.

Felix supposed that didn’t make him any different from the fools who read those books of glorious knights and the beautiful bearers. Perhaps his only problem was being on the wrong side of the story.

Glenn, Ingrid, and Dimitri had only expressed pride in their paths as knights. Even Sylvain, who skipped training to go on dates as often as Felix skipped his lessons to visit the stables, embraced it—if only to impress women.

But this line of thought was useless. He could hardly change what he was.

As he focused back on the battle, Felix barely suppressed jumping in surprise as he spotted a figure just a few feet away from where he crouched.

A bandit, looking barely older than Felix, hid behind a tree with a dagger, watching as a knight backed up towards him unaware. A few more steps and the knight’s throat would be in slashing range.

The bandit’s dark green eyes glimmered with anticipation, and his stance shifted into the coil of a predator.

_No._

His body moving faster than his mind, Felix yanked the belt off of his brother’s coat, wrapped the ends around his hands, and pounced on the bandit. He pulled the thick leather around the bandit’s neck and held on tight.

The bandit yelped in surprise and struggled. He was much stronger than Felix, who immediately felt his grip begin to slip.

Felix grunted when the bandit slammed him backwards against a tree.

Then, he felt a burst of pain as the dagger slashed his leg, cutting into his thick wool pants and opening a long, bloody cut. He realized the blade was poisoned when its path felt like it lit his leg on fire. He cried out, let go of the belt, and fell to his knees as the bandit rounded on him, dagger raised.

Thinking of Glenn, Felix closed his eyes and waited for the fatal blow.

Instead, he felt a spray of warm liquid across his face. Felix’s eyes flickered open when he felt someone fall against him.

The first thing he saw was the bandit’s face, which was frozen and terrified. The next thing was a javelin protruding from his scrawny body. Felix’s gaze followed the direction of its shaft to his father, who was dismounting from his horse in a rush.

“Felix, you utterly foolish boy!” Rodrigue shouted, deep blue eyes blazing with fury. A healer appeared by Felix’s side, and he lost track of his father for a moment as she bent over him to cut open his pant leg and administer an antitoxin. The wound burned sharper for a moment before fading into a dull throb.

“Father…I…” Felix felt dizzy with adrenaline, and then nauseous as his mind comprehended the bloody body next to him. The bandit boy must have died instantly when Rodrigue’s javelin went straight through his heart.

“How is the wound?” His father demanded, removing a glove and kneeling to place a warm hand on the back of Felix’s neck. He felt a burst of white magic, and the tension and nausea in his head cleared.

“The cut is shallow enough. The poison looks homemade from Srengian hemlock, my Lord,” she reported. “Antitoxin and magic will take care of it easily.” A flash of white light, and blood from his wound slowed to a sluggish trickle.

Instead of standing up, Rodrigue grabbed Felix by the shoulders.

“Felix, no, look at me.” He gripped his son’s chin and forced him to meet his sharp blue gaze. Felix almost gasped when he saw his father’s face: ragged and creased with worry. “I know you hate listening to me, but I cannot let you go anywhere you want if you choose to endanger yourself. You leave me no choice but to assign guards.”

“That that knight would have died!” Felix struggled to control his temper, which flared up so easily these days. “I saved him. We’re both alive now, that’s all that matters.”

“You are wrong. He should have died honorably, rather than live with the guilt of causing _your_ death.” Rodrigue replied in a tone that allowed no argument. He pulled away to stand up. “You are a bearer, Felix, even if you don’t behave like one. To risk your life is to risk the future of the Kingdom.”

_No, no, no._ Felix could feel warm tears well up in his eyes and run cold down his cheeks.

He didn’t want to be reminded that his blood and flesh were worth their weight in gold. He didn’t want to be told what to do. He didn’t want this cage.

_I didn’t ask for this._

But most people didn’t ask for what they had. For the Goddess gave and took whatever she wanted.

“Now, come.” Rodrigue softened, probably interpreting his tears as regret. Felix glanced past his father to realize that the battle had ended. The Fraldarius knights shouted various orders, rounding up the bandits who surrendered and carting away the bodies of the ones who didn’t.

The corpses made Felix want to vomit. He looked down at his hands, feeling like a coward.

“My Lord, the daylight is fading. We must move quickly to make it home before dark,” a knight wearing the darker armor of a general urged. “What do we do with the prisoners?”

The pain in Felix’s leg had by now faded into a tolerable throb, and he allowed himself to be helped to his feet and onto a horse by another knight.

“Goddess help us.” Rodrigue removed his fur cape and slung it around Felix’s shoulders. “His Highness is arriving tomorrow, so I cannot spare many knights. Especially for the ball. It is far from ideal, but we must give the prisoners medical attention right now. And then,” he paused thoughtfully. “Let the prisoners belong to the village. They will work to repay what they’ve stolen and in time learn to live honorably.”

Rodrigue turned to glare sternly at each one. “And if you return to your old ways, I will show you no mercy.”

The surviving bandits nodded, looking terrified at the prospect. It was more charitable than most nobles afforded. The population was too tenuous to trust those who have killed others.

As the knights wrapped up the mission, Felix felt a tinge of uneasiness and turned his head furtively to find the source. He spotted a few tied up bandits speaking quietly among themselves, occasionally glancing at, well—

Felix flinched when he realized they were looking at _him_.

“Is that the Fraldarius bearer?”

“What is he doing here?”

“The rumors are right. He’s very pretty.”

Feeling self-conscious, Felix tilted his head down to let the cape’s hood fall farther over his face. He felt great relief when his horse, reins held by his father, began to bear him home.

—

“The preparation of this meat reminds me of Garreg Mach.” Rodrigue commented pensively. “Eating there was always an adventure, though not always in a good way. The trick is to find out who’s good at cooking.”

Father and son sat at the end of a long, otherwise empty dining table. The large, high-ceilinged room was intended for a banquet, though none had happened there in years.

“Hn.”

The hearty smell of sauteed pheasant jerky and preserved vegetables failed to soothe the tension between the two. Felix had expected to be disciplined after day’s events, but Rodrigue seemed to be in a conciliatory mood.

A period of silence passed. Felix moved the food around on his plate.

“By the way, I haven’t seen you dance in long time. You used to dance in the palace in Fhirdiad all the time.” Rodrigue commented, pouring more wine into his goblet. These days, it was his preferred drink. “Everyone loved watching you. His Highness wanted so deeply to dance with you, but you never let him.”

“His Highness is a brute,” Felix snapped. “I let him once, and he broke my finger.” He would never forget the way Dimitri had frozen in terror when Felix cried out in pain and clutched his hand. The young prince avoided him for weeks after the incident.

For a while, it was nice to dance and roam the palace unbothered, but Glenn eventually begged Felix to forgive him, complaining it was a pain to spar with someone who always looked like a kicked puppy.

“Right.” Rodrigue sighed. “I recall he apologized profusely, and you forgave him long before he forgave himself. But never mind that. I want to ask you a favor: will you dance with your old man after dinner? Goddess knows I need the practice for the Solstice ball.”

For a moment, Felix didn’t know what to say. He chewed slowly on a bite of salty meat.

During the three years since Duscur, Rodrigue had retreated from Felix. He said those awful words about Glenn’s death and never apologized. He threw himself into the arduous work of quashing rebellions and mentoring the prince, and he never came to Felix the countless nights he cried on the floor of Glenn’s bedroom.

(“Vulnerability doesn’t come easily to knights of Faerghus,” Glenn once told Felix after a particularly ferocious argument with their father. “For people so strong, you’d think they’d be less afraid of appearing weak.”)

The request to dance was clearly an olive branch. Plenty of servants would love to give their beloved Duke a dance lesson or two. Did watching his remaining son brush against death that morning instigate this? Did Rodrigue understand how desperately Felix yearned to escape his cage?

More likely, he wanted Felix to behave when Dimitri arrived at Fraldarius the next day—for the first time in years. It was always about Dimitri.

Felix poked at a pickled tomato with a fork, refusing to meet Rodrigue’s eyes.

“I feel exhausted today. I’d like to go to bed early.” He tensed, expecting to be reprimanded. Or to be forced to dance by having some freedom threatened, not that there was much left to bargain.

Because why wouldn’t Rodrigue try to ruin something else Felix once liked?

At least he recognized a lost cause. “Alright. I’ll ask Cordelia. She deserves the break for being such great help sorting out your clothes these days.”

Relieved, Felix nodded and reached for his glass of grape juice to soothe the dryness in his throat. He eyed the ornate brass decanter, wishing he could have wine. But alcohol was purported to decrease fertility.

_And Goddess forbid my life be more bearable_ , he thought.

Rodrigue continued when Felix didn’t say anything. “Then you should retire and rest early. You will need that energy to ride out to greet his Highness’ procession tomorrow morning.”

“Really?” That got Felix to finally look up at Rodrigue, to meet his gaze. He was rarely allowed outside the safety of the fortress. Especially not on a horse. His father had made sure of that about a year after the Tragedy, when Felix managed to sneak away on a mare he stole from a napping squire.

In retrospect, it was a pathetic attempt. He had wanted to see Dimitri and Ingrid and Sylvain, and he’d been infected by the foolish notion that they wanted to see him too.

“Of course. It is your duty as a Fraldarius to serve the royal house.” Rodrigue’s voice became stern. “However, given your recent behavior, perhaps it would be wiser to leave you here. I expect you to conduct yourself like a proper bearer in the presence of his Highness and the Royal Guard.”

“You speak as though I’m already guilty.” Felix stabbed his fork into a carrot. “When I haven’t seen him, or any of them, in years.”

“Trust is earned. And you can start by eating instead of playing with your food.” His father’s steel blue eyes softened. “You must miss your friends.”

Felix acquiesced, lifting his fork and eating mechanically. He suddenly felt guilty as he thought about the stack of unanswered letters in his wardrobe.

He hadn’t seen Sylvain for even longer than Dimitri, but he’d heard from him.

The latest letter from Gautier territory arrived last week. Felix would never admit to how hungrily he read Sylvain’s sloppy handwriting, or how eagerly he pored over every detail of his latest battle against Srengian militia. Or how much time he spent worrying about a rust-colored stain on the paper that looked suspiciously like blood.

“I do.” He wondered how often his friends killed.

“Your friends have grown a lot in the past few years. They’ve finished their squire-ships and become strong, capable warriors.” Rodrigue took a long sip of his wine. “And leaders.”

_And what have I become?_

Felix forced himself to eat another few bites of food, even though swallowing felt like drowning. His tightly tailored waistcoat wasn’t helping this claustrophobia. He breathed slowly, trying to calm himself.

Rodrigue didn’t notice. “His Highness cares deeply about chivalry and justice. You’ll see that he’s learned to temper his strength since he made that mistake with you.”

_A broken finger. A mistake._ Felix ate another difficult bite. “I don’t plan to find out.”

His father’s expression grew disappointed. “He is your prince, Felix. You were allowed that freedom as a child, but you are both sixteen now. Whatever he asks, you will serve him.” Just as quickly, a subtle, proud smile graced his face—Rodrigue sometimes looked so _damn_ much like Glenn. “And you will want to. His Highness has become a true knight. Your brother would be proud of him.”

Felix froze, his whole body locking up like cornered prey. For he had been hit by a clarity that the fog of the past three years had hidden right in front of his nose.

And it hurt. A lot. Because he could not deny the truth any longer.

Rodrigue didn’t need to grieve for Glenn because he had replaced him with Dimitri.

It was too much. Felix stood up quickly, sending his chair sprawling back with a crack. “He’s gone. _Gone_. You don’t get it. You’ll never get it.”

“Felix! What is the meaning of this?” Rodrigue’s knuckles were white against the brass goblet.

“You…”

Was there any point in confronting Rodrigue over something he’d inflicted on himself, on _them_ , on purpose? Had he already spent too long believing there was something left to salvage from the wreckages of Duscur?

“I’m going to bed.” He had to escape. To anywhere. It was the same fight-or-flight instinct that gripped him in the forest.

“At this moment? The sun has barely set!”

“I…” He thought of his friends, and of the next day. Of the day after that, and after that. An exhausting marathon he never signed up for. “I’m tired. I’ll ride with you tomorrow.”

“Alright.” Rodrigue conceded, still skeptical. He looked for a moment liked he wanted to say more.

But nothing came, so Felix fixed his chair and swiftly left the dining room.

—

He reached his bedroom crying. Mourning once again for Glenn.

Its neatness evidenced that servants had been in there, and the welcoming warmth of the recently lit fireplace felt like an insult.

His brother’s coat, which Felix left on the bed when he returned from the mission, was no longer there. That was expected: after all, he wasn’t allowed to wear it.

He resolved to steal it back, as soon as he could.

He kicked off his shoes and desperately stripped out his clothes. The silk night set someone left folded neatly on his dresser was the same sterile white shade, but at least it was loose.

And for a few hours, sleep came easily. Soft and welcoming like a fur hide.

—

It was midnight. Or early morning.

Rodrigue did not make good on his promise to station guards outside his room. So, sneaking down the hall and up several flights of spiral stairs on silent bare feet into a guest room was simple.

It wasn’t just any guest room, but rather the _King’s_ guest room. It was larger than any room in the Fraldarius estate, and it had an adjoining sitting room, which Felix entered briskly.

The rooms hadn’t been used in a long time, which was clear from the ghostly cotton sheets covering elegant upholstered furniture. Felix walked past these to the opposite wall, to his destination.

Large wooden double doors dominated the end of the sitting room. They were reinforced with steel and decorated with silver motifs of nature.

He unlatched the steel locking mechanism and, using all his strength, pushed one open. Immediately, a gust of freezing wind forced him to close his eyes. But he had lived all his life in Faerghus, so he adjusted adeptly to the bitter winter night air.

The balcony, which his family’s servants usually cleaned after heavier snowfalls, had accumulated a thin layer of snow. The stone tile floor was icy under his bare feet as he stepped outside, but Felix barely noticed.

He was trembling, but not from the cold. And he wanted to scream.

_Goddess, I should be used to this life._

He wondered if his father would have a heart attack if he found his bearer son here, like this, wearing only thin night garments in the dead of winter.

The wind buffeted the billowy white silk, a style considered suited for bearers—carefully calculated to make him look delicate and worthy of protection. He’d observed the maids’ awe at the expensive fabric, made from silkworms only found in some distant land called Almyra.

A gift from one of the Kingdom’s wealthiest merchants, to curry favor. Or was it some noble family seeking his hand in marriage? With the fertility rate so low, even high-ranked nobles married commoner bearers. Ultimately, what mattered was that they produced an heir with a crest.

_“You are a bearer, Felix, even if you don’t behave like one.”_

Felix knew what he was.

A prize. An object. A means to an end. And a prisoner.

Wrapped up in the known world’s most expensive fabric. In the moonlit dark of the balcony, though, he probably looked like a ghost.

Perhaps his father would just mistake Felix for the ghost of Glenn.

His untied hair whipping around in the wind, he approached the edge of the balcony and gripped its metal railing as if holding on for dear life.

“Glenn,” Felix’s voice was a raspy whisper. “Brother, I miss you.”

He gazed into the darkness before him. He felt tears slide down and across from his face, leaving a pair of icy tracks. His legs felt weak, so he sank down into a sitting position.

His view of the night became a view through the railing’s bars. He watched the lights from houses in the village below. From this height, they looked like stars in an upside-down sky.

He knew this was dramatic behavior, and he could imagine Glenn’s reaction. “Don’t be a crybaby, Felix,” his brother would say. He said it a lot, like repeating it would make it true. “You’ll change the world one day. We’re all counting on you.”

_Did he really believe that?_

Using the bars as support, Felix stood up again. A large crate of supplies sat next to him against railing, probably a shipment of food for the ball. He climbed onto it, tugging hard when the white silk of his shirt got caught on the rough wood. The crate was barely higher than the railing. His shaky feet stepped close to the edge.

One more step, and it would all be over. He’d finish what that poor bandit boy didn’t. Perhaps that was what he had been truly seeking that morning.

It would be an escape.

Felix’s whole body was numb and heavy from the cold. He wouldn’t have to deal with his father, an unknown husband, and—he felt nausea again—a pregnancy, probably multiple, until he produced a satisfactory heir. He’d be with his brother.

But Glenn died an honorable death. Did the Goddess allow cowards to mingle with the brave in the afterlife?

“My sweet little brother.” Felix’s head snapped up.

Glenn was on the balcony with him, smiling, unscathed, and wearing the same armor he wore the day he died. His gray-blue eyes gleamed like he’d just told a joke. His hand was outstretched to help Felix off the crate, chivalrous as ever.

“You don’t really want to do that. Go inside and get warm.”

“You don’t know what I’m going through,” Felix glared, crossing his arms so that there was no chance he’d reach for his brother. “You’re not even here. I’m making this up in my fucked-up head.”

Glenn laughed, low and bright. “If I’m part of your head, then I definitely know what you’re going through. Come down now. We’re all counting on you.”

“Why do you keep saying that! I counted on you and you left me!” Felix shouted, clenching his hands hard. “No one cares about me.” At least not in the ways that he wanted them to care.

“Felix.” Glenn’s smiling face became stern. “You know better than this. It hurts, but you need to let it go. Let _me_ go. And you need to forgive him.”

_Forgive who? His father? Dimitri?_

Felix sighed, looking away and down. Closer than the village, within the castle grounds, he could see a few of his father’s knights training even at this hour. Each man and woman in service of House Fraldarius had sworn to protect Felix with their lives without expecting the same from him.

Out farther, in the surrounding village, his family’s subjects slept in their beds, confident that their Duke would keep them safe from bandits, from the hungry beasts, and from the winter. He remembered their worshipful eyes from the increasingly rare times he left the castle and passed through town.

Would Felix’s death become a repeat of Duscur? His father would find surely find some poor man to blame, even for an incontrovertible suicide. Maybe even many men. What kind of twisted justice would the Kingdom itself inflict in revenge for his death? Felix wasn’t a King, but his life was almost as valuable.

The loneliness hurt the most.

He missed Sylvain’s roguish smile, the exhilaration of sneaking out of the palace with him.

He missed watching Ingrid hold her own on the training grounds against the most seasoned knights in Fhirdiad.

And Dimitri…well...

He wondered how they changed.

Their territories were just a few days’ ride away; yet, he hadn’t seen any of them for three years.

His friends were busy traveling to distant places. Learning about the Kingdom they will one day rule. And meeting the nobles and leaders from neighboring lands with which they will one day ally. Or perhaps fight and kill.

_Could Glenn be right?_

Felix swore he would never let his death beget more death. When he looked back, his brother was gone.

And, his mind felt clearer. The wound on his leg ached.

He stepped down from the crate carefully and swept a thin sleeve across the floor to erase his footprints in the snow. In mere hours, he would see his friends for the first time in three years.

That, at least, was reason for hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Felix briefly contemplates suicide.


End file.
